Arjuna drove her to Ameena’s house, checking the rear-view mirror often. In her side mirror, Ellie could see a motorcyclist weaving through the traffic behind them. He was too fast for her to tell if it was the same one as before.
They pulled into Ameena’s street and stopped at the front gate in view of the security camera. The guard house was empty. Ellie sat motionless in the car.
‘Are you going to tell him why you’re here?’ Arjuna asked. ‘Actually, remind me, why are you here? Official story, that is.’
‘To help secure US interests in the post-conflict reconstruction of Sri Lanka through the strategic provision of aid.’
‘That’s right, I forgot that you’re Redmond’s best student of subtext. Are you going to get out of the car?’
‘Sure, in a moment,’ she replied.
‘What’s that expression you Americans like? Chicken shit,’ he mocked gently. He turned off the engine and left her alone. He walked to the gates and called out. ‘Hello? Sathyan, it’s us. Anyone home?’
Ellie saw his silhouette first, tall and slim, standing on the verandah. He stepped into the sun, his hand shielding his eyes, and she saw that he was dressed in jeans and a Springsteen t-shirt. His face was drawn, shadowed with neglect, his hair longer, more casual.
He smiled and she wanted to cry. She swallowed back the tears and exhaled deeply, finally getting out and coming to stand at the gate. Sathyan waved and walked towards them.
‘Use the side entry, it’s easier,’ he said, approaching the door near the guard house that was padlocked too. He concentrated on the lock as he reinserted the key at a different angle, and then another. Ellie recognised the furrowing of his forehead and noticed the grey hairs now at his sideburns, speckling up towards his temples. The padlock clicked open at last and slid to the ground.
‘Come in, come in,’ he said. ‘Leave the car there. I’m not very good at all these locks. I had to let the guardsman go. Got a new security system and padlocks instead. Thank you for coming.’ He was nervous too.
Arjuna nudged her as he passed. Sathyan embraced him with ease, kissing him on both sides of his face.
And then he stopped to look at Ellie properly for the first time. Before she lost her nerve and before he could put distance between them—more distance—she stepped forward and put her arms around him. She had to stand on her toes, over-balancing a little. He held her, closely and securely. An exhalation of muscle memory. He smelled of sandalwood soap. The tendrils of the musky fragrance had never really left her. She could recall it, recall him, at will.
They fit together and then separated. Another exhalation of muscle memory.
•
The three of them sat in the living room. It was littered with piles of books, newspapers and magazines. A tower of Readers Digest magazines held a window open.
Weathered teak armchairs with frayed rattan seats were arranged around a calamander coffee table, its surface tattooed with the circles of past cups of hot tea, carelessly left while the drinker sat lost in a book. The shelves were interspersed with dusty photo frames. Ellie recognised Ameena’s family alongside photographs of Ameena and Sathyan.
Sathyan waited for the ayah to leave a tea tray on the table. He spoke to her kindly in Sinhala and she nodded.
‘I tried to fire her too, but she won’t leave,’ he told them as they collected their teacups. ‘She’s the third generation to work for the Fernandos.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Thank you for coming.’ His hands clenched around the hot cup.
‘You don’t need to thank me—us,’ Ellie replied. ‘I’m sorry—I’m sorry for your loss.’ She cursed herself. It was such a pedestrian opening. ‘Do you have any idea who would do this to Ameena?’ she asked. A direct but necessary question. She had to focus on the investigation, skip the small talk, skip the personal talk. At least, that was what she told herself. Focus.
‘Too many ideas. There was a queue of people wanting to kill her.’
‘There was a longer queue of people who loved her,’ she said softly.
He looked up, startled by her kindness. ‘Yes.’ He nodded and cleared his throat again. ‘The media says it was the Tigers. She’d run several features on what they’re doing in the north. Forcing their people to fight, recruiting anyone who can lift a gun.’
‘Nothing new there.’ She pulled out her notebook.
‘No, not new, but worse than usual.’ He shrugged. ‘It could have been the Tigers.’
She didn’t think so. The assassination required planning and money. There was the missing CCTV footage, too. The Tigers couldn’t pull that off. ‘From the outside, the government is the prime suspect,’ she said. ‘Suspected, but not publicly accused or investigated.’
‘Except by Ameena. That’s who she thought would do it. She knew they would get her in the end, and yet she still … she still did her job. She was a lot like you in that way.’
It was her turn to look up, startled by the comparison. ‘She was much braver than me.’ Ellie was a coward. She had been one four years ago, and she was one now. A coward and a liar.
‘She was braver than all of us. You would have liked her.’ He put down his tea, walked over to the bookshelf and touched random spines, trailing a line in the dust that had settled on them. ‘The government’s death squads have taken eleven journalists in the last year. Our friends. So many …’
‘The previous attacks on her life and the newsroom?’ she prompted.
‘The last attacks were claimed by the Eastern Freedom Organisation, a Tamil Tiger splinter group funded by the government. She wrote a piece about how the different Tamil groups were turning on each other, doing the Army’s job for them. They didn’t like that.’
‘Did you hire the guard after that?’
‘Before that, actually. Ameena had taken shots at various presidents over the years, but Rajapaksa’s retaliations are particularly well-executed.’
They both paused at the choice of words.
‘He isn’t used to being publicly challenged,’ Sathyan continued. ‘They were trying to scare her but not kill her, not yet. You have to understand—Ameena was very high profile. She was, as you say, loved. She was also connected. She was Sinhalese, moneyed and educated. Her family has owned tea estates since the late 1800s. She had a family membership at the Cricket Club. She was established. It made her betrayal of the establishment all the greater, but it also protected her, for a while.’ His voice faltered. He returned to his seat, reached for his cup of tea, and then changed his mind.
Ellie was rapidly forming a textured portrait of Ameena in her mind. Sathyan was right, she would have liked her. ‘I read that she was being sued by the government?’
‘Yes, by Dilshan Perera, the Under Secretary for Defence. The most recent lawsuit started three months ago. Ameena made allegations about an arms deal with a Chinese company. She had a trustworthy source, so she printed. They sued for defamation and demanded a retraction.’
‘Ameena didn’t seem like a retractor,’ she observed.
‘No. Before the injunction was delivered to the front door of The Lanka Herald, she printed another piece, this time linking to primary sources on her website, confidential emails between the Under Secretary, the new Chinese cultural attaché, Eric Kwan, and a Chinese agricultural manufacturer.’
Ellie made a note to investigate her old acquaintance from the diplomatic drinks the other night. Kwan was a senior diplomat now, but the first time she’d met him at the Tibetan forum, he was a general in the PRC Army. ‘I know Kwan.’
‘That makes sense,’ he replied.
‘I couldn’t find the primary sources, just references to it,’ she continued. ‘Even Wikileaks didn’t have it. Our own intel doesn’t go further than that.’
‘Unless your boss isn’t telling you everything. He’s very need-to-know, from memory,’ Arjuna pointed out.
‘I think this is something I would need to know.’
The corner of Arjuna’s mouth twitched.
‘Why, Ellie?’ Sathyan asked. ‘Why are you here? If you came because I emailed you, then I’m grateful. I can’t do this on my own, I don’t even know what I’m looking for.’
She looked away without answering him. She was here to make it look like she was negotiating an aid agreement and look like she was investigating Ameena’s death. But now she wanted to know the truth. She wanted to do this for Sathyan. She owed him that, and she struggled to look him in the eyes and lie again.
‘After the second piece, the government shut the paper’s website down,’ he went on when she didn’t answer. ‘All of Ameena’s research was removed. A lot of papers and files about other things, too. They were looking for her source.’
‘Do you know who the source was?’ she asked.
‘No, of course not.’
‘So, the website’s down, the files are gone. What was it about that deal that was worth killing her for? Why now?’ she mused. Ameena had run features on government corruption and bribery scandals before. Sri Lanka had bought arms before. What was different about this deal with the Chinese?
Sathyan shook his head. ‘She didn’t tell me more than what she published. She was particularly careful about this story. Sometimes I helped with the proofreading, but she kept me far away from this one.’ His voice stumbled and then recovered.
‘Perhaps she was trying to protect her source? Or you?’ she suggested.
‘Perhaps.’
‘And the Chinese company—what was its name?’ Ellie flipped through her notebook.
‘Ming-Na Wu Holdings—MNW. An internet search doesn’t tell you much about them. They have a mixed portfolio of products; mostly chemicals for agriculture and weapons on the side, or vice versa.’
‘Of course. That’s a logical fit.’
‘Absolutely. They probably produce vaccines, too,’ Sathyan said.
She laughed. He smiled back, tentatively. She remembered that smile so well.
‘I’ll see what we can find on MNW. Scott back at the ranch is pretty good.’
‘The guy that was here the last time? He’s still at the embassy?’ he asked.
‘A lifelong patriot,’ she replied.
‘Like you.’
She didn’t comment. ‘Do you have anything left? Any research, printouts of the correspondence between Kwan and the government?’
‘The evidence is all gone. After her death, the police came here again and took whatever was left. The house was searched. The office, too. They were thorough, as though they knew what they were looking for. Even the garbage and the shredder. Her notebooks—I used to love reading those …’
‘How soon, Sathyan?’ Arjuna asked softly.
Sathyan stared at him, confused.
‘How soon after her death did the police come here with a warrant?’ Arjuna clarified.
‘That morning.’ Sathyan closed his eyes briefly. ‘She had barely reached the hospital.’ He looked around the room. ‘Only Ameena’s books were left.’ He walked over to the bookshelf again, crouching to a row of travel books. ‘I’ve been meaning to return your Lonely Planet to you, Ellie. The one for the USA. I never made it out there in the end. But it’s been here, waiting for you.’ He pulled a book out. ‘I like the maps. Washington seems like a beautiful city.’ He handed it to her. ‘But difficult to understand without the key.’ He dropped his voice, and said for her ears only, ‘When you work it out, please tell me what it says.’
She nodded, putting the Lonely Planet away in her bag quickly. She scanned the room for the surveillance devices he was worried about. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘My brother was looking for this.’
She suddenly thought of something else. Rummaging around her bag, she took the photograph she had retrieved from Ameena’s office and gave it to him.
Sathyan touched the glossy photograph lightly. ‘This was taken at their beach house in Negombo. It’s been in the family for decades. Happier times. Did you meet them in San Francisco?’
‘No, but her husband, ex-husband, is launching a campaign. Do you know him?’
‘Yes, I’ve met him. Is that why you’re here? Because of his campaign?’ he asked.
‘You know why I’m here,’ she replied. She couldn’t look at him.
‘Thank you.’ He walked back to the books and placed the photograph on a shelf. ‘Ameena’s ex-husband is nice,’ he said, reaching for less painful territory. ‘A great journalist himself. I need a bit of time, but then I’ll help him. Maybe we can make sense of this together, or put it to rest together. Make peace with it.’
‘Who do you think it was? Who did this to her?’ she asked. It was a slightly different question from her first.
Sathyan looked around as if expecting soldiers to storm through the doors. He lifted his gaze to hers. ‘I told her to drop it so many times. So many times, we all warned her. Who do I think did this to her? She did,’ he answered. ‘She did it to herself.’
•
Sathyan closed the front door and bolted it shut. From the window, he watched Ellie and Arjuna lock the gate and test the padlock. His hand went reflexively to the keychain around his neck. He needed to get better at the new lock, needed to be able to open it faster under pressure. He had a ladder and rubber mats positioned at the wall behind the house. He could place the ladder against the wall, throw the rubber mats over the shards of glass and jump into their neighbour’s garden. He had made Ameena practise.
He knew in truth that if anyone came for him, it would most likely happen outside the fortress their home had become. It would be the white van that trailed him everywhere since her murder.
If they really wanted to break into their home and kill him there, they could. Whenever he returned, he switched every light on and walked around each room, willing his steps to be quiet but confident. He checked each room for intruders the way his mother used to check each room for snakes.
Sometimes at night, he unlocked the padlocked gate, left the front door unbolted, turned off the alarm and the cameras, and slept without his shoes on. Sometimes he went to bed and, before he closed his eyes, he thought about Ameena, the choices she had made for all of them, and he said, fuck you, too.